One Hell
by Phenomstress
Summary: He is one hell of a man. One hell of a fighter. One hell of a wrestler. And this is my attempt, at one hell of a story.
1. Washing the Car

Title: One Hell  
Author: Undertaker's Diva -and- Hunter's Goddess  
Rating: R  
Summary: He's one hell of a wrestler. One hell of a fighter. And this is my attempt at one  
hell of a story.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the wrestler mentioned in this story, I don't own his character, or  
any other's that might be mentioned with in this story. All rights belong to Vince  
McMahon, the WWFE, and Titan Sports. I know you are probably wondering why I'm  
being so professional, well, I'm going to try and put a lot into this story, so I thought it  
would be the right thing to do.  
  
________  
  
The day was hot. But what would one normally expect on a hot July day. And not to  
mention we are in Texas. The heat can melt fire, if that was at all possible. And if it ever  
does become possible, it will become so, in Texas. He shielded his eyes as he glanced up  
at the hot sun. "Damn it's hot." He muttered quietly. He was outside washing his new  
black Corvette. It was his day off from the glamorous world of professional wrestling, and  
he decided to do something normal for a change. He was going to wash his car.  
  
His pants were splattered with water and soap suds. He had long since shed his black  
tanktop and he was starting to feel the tingle on his back. He knew he'd probably get a  
sunburn. It didn't really bother him. What bothered him was this damn little dent on his  
new car. "Where the fuck did that come from?" He cursed the invisible reason. "Must've  
hit a rock." It's something everyone says from time to time. You find a dent on your car.  
And instead of fessing up and saying 'you' must've dented your own car, you blame it on  
running over a rock. A small little rock was shot from your tire and somehow the wind  
carried up over your car, causing it to dent your hood.  
  
Right.  
  
He began doing what everyone does in this situation, he began trying to scrub the dent off.  
We all know if you truly believe you can scrub something hard enough, it'll come off.  
Right?  
  
Wrong again.  
  
"Why the hell is this not coming off." He told himself. The voice in his mind was already  
calling him an idiot. So his outside persona decided to do it too. "You're an idiot." He  
stopped scrubbing and scratched his head. He had the sudden feeling of dejah vu. He  
decided to rinse the car off one more time before he started the task of waxing. He hadn't  
decided how many times he'd wax his car, probably as long as it took before he could see  
him self in it. He was spraying the tires when he heard a soft ring. He turned toward the  
noise and walked over to grab the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Um, can I help you?"  
  
"Yes, would you like a subscription to.."  
  
-click-  
  
He laughed and tossed his cordless phone back on the grass. He didn't have time for any  
magazines and what-not. His job was on the go so often he barely came home. He loved it  
when they did shows in Texas, it meant he'd get to stop by his house. He loved his house.  
It had been his father's, it was left to him in the will. He shook his head and reached up to  
wipe the sweat of his brow. Instead he wiped the soapsuds on his arm all over his face.  
  
"Damnit."  
  
He started laughing at what the scene must look like to the neighbors. Here he is, a big six  
foot six inch pro wrestler standing out in front of his house with soap suds all over his  
face. He stopped laughing and turned to go back into the house, before he reached the  
doorway he remembered the phone and ran back to get it. it suddenly started ringing.  
  
"Yes Miss Cleo, my psychic powers are working today." He said laughingly to himself.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Hey, it's me, what are you doing?"  
  
"Washing Sasha."  
  
"You named your car after your ex girlfriend."  
  
"She's only my ex due to unfortunate circumstances."  
  
"Right, like she dumped your ass.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"So you going to look her up while you're off?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Yeah, good luck with that buddy."  
  
"Thanks, later."  
  
"Bye."  
  
John Layfield laughed as he hung up the phone. He took one last look at his car before  
walking inside. "It's too damn hot to be outside right now." He mumbled as he shut the  
door.  
  
John walked over to his comfy leather sofa and sat down. He hasn't talked to Sasha in so  
long. He didn't even know where to start. They'd been high school sweethearts. She knew  
he loved wrestling. But neither of them were aware of how much of a pull it would be on  
their relationship. Five years ago was when they broke it off. Or when 'she' broke his  
heart. Maybe now that he was back home she could take him back. And forgive the man  
he once was, and forget who he has to be on screen. This new man that runs his life and  
drove away her's. This damn Bradshaw.  
  
  
  
  
  
_________  
  
TBC 


	2. Shopping

John studied the phone in his hand. It had been Mark Calaway that had called earlier. Him  
and Mark were pretty close backstage, and they both lived in Texas. He also knew Sasha  
really well. Or at least he knew her from what John had told him. John debated on calling  
Sasha. But thought maybe now wasn't the best time. He'd thought about her those five  
years and he was always scared to death to call her. It's funny, many fans would have  
trouble swallowing a concept of Bradshaw being scared of a little ''Ole woman. But again  
this was John, not Bradshaw. And if you think about it, Bradshaw ain't even got a woman,  
and thanks to him, neither does John.  
  
John got up and stumbled into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator to find a stick of  
butter, some milk, a jar of pickles, and two cans of beer. "Wow, maybe I better go to the  
store." He said casually. He picked up the jar of pickles and stared at the expiration date.  
It wasn't even readable anymore. He chuckled slightly. "I'll give some of these to Dwayne,  
he needs something different in his diet, there's only too much pie a man can eat." He said  
to himself. He placed the pickles back into the fridge and shut the door. He grabbed the  
keys to his 'Vette on the counter and walked back outside. He stopped when he  
remembered he was still covered in water from washing his car.  
  
"Oh, right." He replied as he turned to walk back in. He changed into another pair of blue  
jeans, some nice dry ones. He threw on a black T-shirt that was a snug on his muscular  
arms. "Hmm, guess it's been a while since I've worn this one." He commented to his  
reflection in the mirror. He pulled his long black hair back into a ponytail and walked back  
outside. "Damn heat!" He yelled up at the sun.  
  
The sun said nothing in return.  
  
He sat down in his car and sighed with content as he blasted the air conditioner. He  
reached over and turned on the radio. It was the new Nickleback song "Too Bad." He  
liked that song so he turned it up some more. He pulled out of the driveway and drove to  
the grocery store.  
  
_______  
  
  
"I hate shopping." John replied at the can of peas he held in his hand. He never could  
figure out the difference between "sliced peas" and "diced peas", so he threw them both  
into his basket. As he continued on his way he made sure to get the essentials for a single  
man's survival. Pizza and Beer. The cart was full. He grabbed a jar of peanut-butter an  
some bread. "Might get tired of pizza everyday." He started making his way towards the  
checkout line. Then he stopped suddenly.  
  
Fate can be so cruel.  
  
There was only one register open and the cashier was Sasha. John was quickly trying to  
figure out what to do. He got in line and was busy trying to catch her eye when a couple  
of small boys caught his attention.  
  
"Bradshaw? Oh wow! It's Bradshaw!"  
  
"Hey kid." He talked to them for a second and gave them both some autographs when  
suddenly a voice caught his attention. "Hello John."   
  
John quickly looked back at Sasha. She was just as pretty as he remembered, her honey  
colored hair, her soft green eyes, her creamy tan skin. He was in awe of her. Her voice  
snapped him out of her thoughts. "That'll be $57.87" He looked down and realized she had  
already rung up his merchandise. He handed her the money.   
  
"Hey Sasha, how have you been?" His voice was more shakier then he wanted it to be.  
  
"I've been fine, yourself?" She asked very perkily. She certainly wasn't having the same  
trouble he was having. She handed him back his change when something caught his eye,  
and kicked him in the heart.  
  
A diamond ring on her finger.  
  
"You engaged?" He quickly caught her eyes, waiting and dreading her answer. She looked  
into his brown eyes and had a flood of memories flash over her eyes. She shook them out  
hastily. "Yes." That's all she could say. That's all she wanted to tell him.  
  
"When?" He didn't really want to know. "In two weeks."  
  
Ouch.  
  
He shook his head and turned to leave. He didn't say goodbye. He couldn't he felt like he'd  
been kicked in the stomach. A nauseous feeling was rising in his throat. Sasha was getting  
married. What the hell? All his life he dreamt of marrying her, HIM! Not some other  
chump.   
  
Sasha watched him leave and wondered why he seemed so shocked, after all, it's been five  
years. Five lonely years with out his eyes staring into hers and with out his arms around  
her. She shook the thoughts violently from her head and began her task of ringing up the  
next customer, she had more important things to think about beside John, like her  
wedding. 


End file.
